


Four Hours

by cgb



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-03-04
Updated: 2001-03-04
Packaged: 2019-05-15 11:22:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14789571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cgb/pseuds/cgb
Summary: Four hours on Air Force One proves to be a little too hard to handle.





	Four Hours

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

Title: Four Hours  
Author: CGB  
Web: http://Appelsini.tripod.com/Christine/  
Rating: R or something. Some adults doing the wild  
thing here kiddies � avert your eyes.  
Feedback: Yes please  
Archive: Same  
Disclaimer: yadda yadda not mine yadda yadda actually  
I don't know who owns them...Aaron Sorkin on his own?  
Summary: Four hours on Air Force One proves to be a  
little too hard to handle.

Some background: August suggested I write a story  
about the missing four hour flirtation on Air Force  
One mentioned in her story "Paper Replicates". Because  
I needed an idea and because I loved that story I took  
her up on it. The theme of this story is inspired by  
a line from that story "You see, words are everything  
to me, CJ, they're all I have (Toby)"

This theme has been touched upon by August and  
Penelopody since so I guess that line had quite an  
impact. Always a good thing, right A.?

\-------------------  
Four Hours

When they discussed it, and they never discussed it,  
when they exchanged breathless promises to themselves  
and each other in heated moments, they insisted it  
would never be like this. Not like this.

*

She'd been reading the tax reform report but she  
couldn't make sense of it. The words swam around the  
screen slipping into one another. The political jargon  
was repetitive and complex. Josh had told her not to  
attempt to read it on the plane but she couldn't  
resist getting a head start on it, even if it was just  
to know she'd seen the words before.

But she was easily distracted. Her thoughts roamed,  
coming to rest of the notion of language and the  
mutation of language that constituted political  
jargon. She mused on the stages of evolution that  
took place from the moment the 'rah rah' became known  
as the large creature with the imposing incisors to  
the appearance of such wonders of poetics as words  
like 'multi-tasking' and 'globalisation', although  
from what she understood that was just one theory on  
the development of language in human beings. She liked  
it anyway.

She knew a great deal about language and linguistics  
and about the origins of words and phrases. It was a  
prerequisite for the job. Taking on the press room  
meant knowing stupid things, like the development of  
the term 'networking' for example or the meaning of  
'nescient', which some ostentatiously clever person  
had chosen to include in the report she was reading.

It was a useful word. The kind of word she'd expect  
to hear Toby use in a speech.

No, it was the kind of word Toby hurled up people who  
really were nescient just because he'd know they  
wouldn't know what he was talking about. He loved  
that kind of cruel irony.

And there it was. She'd meandered and circled but, as  
was inevitable, her preoccupation with words and  
language led her to thinking about Toby Zeigler.

She had resolved not to think about him after finding  
herself executing somersaults in her head in an effort  
to determine the exact nature of their relationship,  
it's implications and potential hazards. Normally an  
organized and disciplined person, she had been  
confident of deriving a solution to the chaos that was  
Toby and herself, but she wound up confused and  
frustrated and angry with herself for starting  
something she had no idea how to finish.

She wisely told herself to find another subject to  
dwell on but she hadn't slept in forty hours and words  
like 'nescient' were getting stuck in her head and  
bouncing around in there long enough to lose all  
semblance of meaning.

She gave in and quickly risked a side long glance at  
the figure across the cabin. He was sleeping. She  
decided she would punish him severely for such an  
obviously display of callousness when she was only six  
feet away from him. She thought perhaps she could  
refuse his advances the next time they were offered  
but she couldn't really be sure there would be a next  
time.

The last time, a heady moment in her office late at  
night that still made her cheeks flush thinking about  
it, they'd agreed that the possibility of continuing  
their covert encounters was ludicrous.

"This has to be the last time," she' d said.

He nodded, "it won't happen again."

And they didn't talk about what 'it' was or why it  
wouldn't happen again or why it shouldn't happen  
again, but went home in separate cars soaking up the  
smell of mixed sweat and semen still volatile on their  
bodies.

But she knew the conviction behind the words could not  
be trusted because they'd made similar vows before  
only to denounce them days later.

They were just words. The language, well the language  
was something else entirely.

*

He was pretending to be asleep. At one stage he was  
actually trying to sleep but he gave up on that idea  
when he caught CJ leaning back against her seat  
rubbing her neck with her eyes closed. He knew now  
that any attempt to take that image into slumber was  
likely to be met with resistance from other parts of  
his body.

So he feigned sleep because it was the next best thing  
and because his position with his legs up on the table  
in front of him afforded him the best vantage point in  
the cabin from which to observe CJ's private  
ministrations.

She was looking at her monitor only he'd noticed that  
she hadn't raised a finger to the keyboard in the last  
fifteen minutes. She was wide awake so he had to  
assume she was completely engrossed in something  
taking place somewhere other than on her computer  
screen.

He was faced with a most intriguing question. What was  
going on in CJ Gregg's mind? He was arrogant enough to  
hope it had something to do with him but not so  
arrogant that he would suspect her thoughts of him to  
be encouraging.

Here was a woman who had set them both on the path of  
sexual misdemeanors by saying, "Toby, take me home now  
because I'm about to change my mind and I really think  
we should have sex," and like a deer caught in her  
headlights he'd responded, "OK."

It wasn't that she'd issued him an ultimatum, or that  
he felt pressured into compliance, he knew as she did,  
that it was the right time. It was the only time.

*

She closed the laptop and leaned back into her chair  
taking in the man sleeping across from her. She was  
surprised when he opened his eyes and stared right  
back.

They stared at each other blankly for a few moments  
until Toby said, "I assume the reason you're staring  
at me is not because I have drool coming out the side  
of my mouth?"

She broke into a grin and he grinned back and they  
grinned at each other like silly teenagers until they  
became suddenly conscious of where they were and CJ  
did a quick scan of their surrounds to see if anyone  
noticed.

It wasn't supposed to be like this that much she was  
sure of. It wasn't supposed to be anything at all but  
if it must be something then it probably shouldn't be  
these mindless moments where they flaunted an  
undeniable attraction for all to see.

She placed the laptop on the table in front of her.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she said and he nodded  
as she rose.

By some strange compulsion she found herself walking  
past him close enough to brush her thigh against his  
shoulder, a light touch but its effect was  
substantial. She clenched her hands into fists hoping  
to exorcise some of her nervous energy. It wasn't  
working. Perhaps it was sleep deprivation. She felt  
like she was on the verge of exploding.

In the staff's bathroom on Air Force One she ran her  
hands under cold water and splashed her face. She  
thought of the age old remedy of taking cold showers  
to quell a sexual appetite and knew that on Air Force  
One she could consider it seriously.

She doubted the cure was as effective as mythology  
made it out to be she really didn't want to take a  
cold shower to prove a point.

What she really wanted to do was go back to her seat,  
sit down and treat the situation calmly and  
reasonably. They were on Air Force One surrounded by  
their colleagues and the press not to mention the  
President of the United States and she really should  
think about something else, anything else, and oh god,  
she really couldn't go back out there with her pupils  
dilated and her hands struggling to find somewhere  
they could just sit still.

She breathed deeply and willed her heatbeat to slow,  
remembering that the last thing she wanted to do was  
give Toby Zeigler the satisfaction of knowing she'd  
hyperventilated in the bathroom over him.

She opened the door and stepped out to face the object  
of her distress.

"Toby, " she said, taking a moment to compose herself,  
"would you use the word 'nescient' in a sentence?"

He looked momentarily thrown and she was pleased  
because she didn't know what he expected and she  
doubted he did either, but it wasn't that.

"Right now?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"Spoken or written?"

"You say words you wouldn't write or is it the other  
way around?"

"It goes either way," he looked down at her hand  
resting one in the other in front of her. He reached  
out to run a finger across her knuckles. "You'll  
notice the President doesn't refer to a 'thing' he has  
with relatives in Delaware, but you'll also notice  
that I'd call Josh an idiot before I referred to him  
as 'nescient'."

"Mmhm," she murmured, "what about 'gloaming'?"

"Gloaming?"

"From Old English 'glom' meaning the evening twilight.  
Have you ever referred to the evening as gloaming?"

His finger still caressed her knuckle. She looked down  
at where the hands met and then up at his eyes. They  
were closer. She thought they might kiss in what was  
no doubt going to be a clinical example of throwing  
all caution to the wind. As they were their backs hid  
their touching hands but anyone catching them standing  
this close was doubtlessly going to wonder what the  
Press Secretary and the Communications Director had to  
say to each other that required them to stand so their  
noses were almost clashing.

"I think," he said, and now he had taken her hand and  
was applying some pressure to her palm, "that  
Bartlet's disease is contagious."

And she thought that might be it, the end of it all,  
as they got swept into an irretrievable moment, but  
Sam's voice was heard breaking the tension.

"Toby?"

They parted quickly, and she stumbled back to her  
seat. She checked her watch. Two and half hours to go  
before they touched down. She didn't consider herself  
a religious person but she was about to implore  
whatever deities had put her in this situation to  
grant her the relief of sleep for the remainder of the  
trip.

*

After attending to Sam, he went back to his seat he  
saw that CJ was absent. He was surprised to find  
himself slightly dejected by this. He began to  
reprimand himself for his rather bold display minutes  
earlier outside the bathroom. He really didn't know  
what he was doing. And he was so used to knowing what  
he was doing. This spontaneity in him was  
unrecognizable as the Toby Zeigler he knew and  
appreciated.

And that was the strangest thing to say about himself  
because he'd been in love, got married and done all  
the things associated such as propose on buses and  
have sex in her parents' kitchen. He'd been wild and  
he'd been frivolous so when did he start thinking of  
himself as an austere and serious presence?

But this was different, so very different. Aside from  
the fact that they really hadn't qualified this  
relationship and flinging such words as 'love' into  
the arena was probably wildly inappropriate, if not  
downright stupid, this was a relationship forged in  
the prime of their careers. This was it. This was the  
height of their lives and it felt out of control,  
dangerous, to be in each other's company because the  
view from the pinnacle was dazzling.

And yet none of it, nothing could erase the memory he  
had of her when he had slipped her gown from her  
shoulders and kissed her collarbone for the first time  
and she had moaned softly and looked at him like she  
might have been ready to drown with him.

He had a dream that he remembered at the strangest  
times. He was driving his car off an exit ramp, when  
he realized there were cars coming towards him in the  
opposite direction and he had no where to turn. It's  
not that it was like that from time to time. It was  
like that all the time.

*

"Toby?"

Charlie was standing before him in his now familiar  
'I'm sorry to have to do this to you but he's the  
President' pose.

"The President said that if you were awake you might  
like to join them."

"Them?"

"The President and CJ."

He nodded and rose and thought, for the life of him he  
really should have pretended to be asleep.

"Toby sit down," Barlet was making wide gestures as he  
often did when he was in a good mood.

The senior staff had made an art out of their excuses  
to escape the President when he was in a good mood.  
Toby was, of course, particularly artistic in that  
area only he wasn't making excuses now and he really  
did want to be sitting down listening to whatever wild  
tale the President was telling if CJ was willing to do  
so as well.

"Toby, CJ was telling me that you were having an very  
interesting discussion about the use of the words  
'nescient' and 'gloaming'?"

"Mr President, 'interesting' is a poorly chosen  
adjective for the Press Secretary's startling  
repartee" he deadpanned. CJ raised an eyebrow and  
Bartlett looked skeptical. The President was astute  
enough to know when the staff played games with one  
another but he generally let them determine the  
outcome on their own.

"Is that so?" he said, and they were lectured at  
length on the peculiarities of the English language  
only it didn't matter because every now and then Toby  
caught CJ pulling a lock of her out of her eyes or  
flicking lint from the top of her blouse just above  
her breast and he relaxed comfortably into the  
pleasure of figuring, knowing this show was just for  
him.

*

Air Force One touched down in the Capital at 3.30 am.  
The tired and disgruntled passengers were herded into  
their respective vehicles and taxis. CJ had driven and  
a dutiful Secret Service Agent had offered to  
accompany her to her car.

"It's OK," Toby had interjected not really knowing  
whether it was or whether he had the right to say so  
but he hadn't slept in over forty hours and all reason  
and sensibility had vanished long ago.

She had raised eyebrows at him but said nothing.  
They'd walked to her car in silence. He with his hands  
in his pockets and his bag slung over his shoulder,  
her carrying hand luggage and trying not to look at  
him.

She'd stepped off the plain thinking practical  
thoughts in her head like a mantra. They had to go  
home, to sleep, to prepare for the morning that was  
only another four hours away, they had to change  
clothes, read notes, check their answering machines,  
and she had to do all these things. She really had to.

Finally she spoke. She had arrived at her car and was  
leaning against the driver's door, waiting for the  
end, the finale, the round up for the four hours of  
mania they had just experienced.

"God, it's 4 am. I'm have to be back at the white  
House at eight thirty! Toby do I get paid enough for  
this?" she was nervous. They weren't moving. He had  
his hands in his pockets and he was only inches away  
and they both needed sleep but they weren't moving.

"If I told you 'no' would you still be there at 8.30  
tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"No."

She fumbled in her purse for keys. She looked down for  
a moment searching, and then back up again at his  
face. He was staring at her, unflinching.

Her fingers tightened around her keys and she told  
herself she needed to open her car door, get in and  
drive home, because she needed the three hours of  
sleep she was still likely to get tonight.

Instead, she leaned forward, acting on an impulse, and  
kissed him. He returned the kiss pushing her back  
against the car and pushing himself against her body  
insistently.

She found herself unlocking the door and they stumbled  
into the back seat. Toby was tugging at the front of  
her blouse. She lost three buttons in his haste to  
undress her but she only noticed when she tried to  
dress herself again later.

She noticed, however when his hands touched her skin.  
When his mouth felt warm and wet on her collar bone  
and her neck as he whispered to her that she was  
beautiful and that he had tried, god he'd tried, to  
keep his hands off her but her couldn't.

She was saying the same words back. Speaking the  
language of two people who had a relationship, had  
something, not just an attraction that was harboured  
and only taken out to sail when it could be kept under  
control.

And she was amazed that she had never learned, but  
spoke this language so well.

*

They were all hands and legs. All sighs and moans and  
clothing half on and half off. He could feel the  
protruding bone of her thigh as he ran his hand down  
her body, slipping his fingers between them, desperate  
to see her face in ecstasy.

He thought he might have told her he loved her only  
she'd not responded so maybe he'd said it to himself.  
Or had she ignored it?

He lost sight of himself during these times. Forgot  
that he was the Communications Director of the White  
House, a very important man and major influence in the  
politics of the nation, forgot he had these duties,  
these responsibilities and expectations. Forgot that  
he was this person who hears his own words from the  
President's mouth.

And he forgot that the woman underneath him was the  
White House Press Secretary and had just as many  
obligations and expectations.

He'd lose himself in her and she'd grip his shoulders  
and when they spoke neither one of them heard.

*

Eventually she came back down and realized that she  
was half undressed in a parking lot near Air Force  
One. She had visions of the Secret Service shining  
their torches into the car and the two of them, her  
minus the buttons on her blouse, staring at their feet  
like naughty school children and that was the last  
thing she wanted to happen.

No. The last thing she wanted to happen was to find  
that it was not the Secret Service outside but some  
particularly tenacious photographer who just knew  
where to find the picture to make his or her career.

"I should take you home," she offered. He had tossed  
his tie into his pocket and shoved his hand in there  
after it. He looked rumpled, as if he'd just woken up  
and she was momentarily reminded that their prospects  
for much needed sleep were now dwindling.

"It's OK, I'll sleep in the office."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

She got back in her car and started the engine. He  
leant in to kiss her and she smiled as he pulled away.

"Seeyou tomorrow," he said softly.

"It already is tomorrow," she said, equally soft.

*

She thought about it later, that there must have been,  
must be some point in evolution where the language,  
the words, took flight and left a trail of broken  
meanings and misunderstood concepts behind, so that  
one could now speak without ever having to say  
anything.

She had spent the last five hours or so talking to  
Toby without touching on the relevant or pertinent  
issues of their dalliance, and yet somehow they both  
understood that the culmination of the dialogue would  
be a completely reckless attempt to realize a teenage  
ideal by making out in the back seat of a car.

She was tired. Words and meaning always assaulted her  
when she was tired and words, well, thinking about  
words always ended with Toby and she really needed to  
sleep right now.

end


End file.
